Hmmm...define interesting.

My friend texts me to see if I've been doing anything interesting lately? Define interesting. I have not been sky diving, or seen the coral castle, or Ireland, or edible bugs, or the space station, etc., etc.  So no, not really.  I read about interesting, I know it's out there.  I know people are doing it.

I.

Right now, I am taking care of by neighbor's chickens.  My neighbors are on vacation - I'm sure that's interesting.  It's a cruise - on the giant, endless, strangely populated ocean - so, I know it is interesting.  It won't be so interesting when they tell me about it and show me the pictures. 

I did lay in the grass with the chickens examining me close up. They coo'd at me and pecked at my hair and glasses.  Personally, I was glad I had the glasses on.  After dropping an egg of theirs and watching them eat their own, I do suspect my eyeballs might have been to them, what fried chicken feet are to us. I'm only guessing though.  I did smell like chicken shit. I probably laid in some, but it washed off.  Better chicken shit than cow shit or human shit. Why yes, I do think there are levels of shit...human shit being the very worst. Yes, I am a self-loathing human shit hater.  I am very comfortable with it.

Some people say chickens are stupid.  I'm not convinced that they are any more stupid than some of the humans I see.  They seem to be a highly organized tribe - a bit of a well-oil/feathered machine.  I think they are probably more like a Communist Clan over a straight-up Dictatorship.  If one gets out of line, then they are pecked at severely and sent "over there" for a bit for re-education training.  And there are the Have's vs, the Have Nots. Oh, to be at the bottom of that barrel.

Two of them sit on me and let me pet them fairly often.  Which I think it quite forgiving of them, since every day I steal their eggs...their unborn.  Perhaps, they are just horrible mothers and thankful that someone takes the damn things. 

II.

I have an old lady neighbor stalking me, a bit.  She is short, and frail, but seemingly good health.  She knows that I am watching the chickens, and she keeps making excuses to call me and see me...be it all "for the chickens". Every day she calls me with yet another batch of slightly moldy bread or almost going bad fruit and vegetables..."for the chickens". And I forgot to give her back her Tupperware.   And last night, she was conveniently out taking her evening walk near the chicken house, and just happened to see me. Shit, now she knows my car. 

I pulled over and noted my shame in not returning her Tupperware quickly. And she said it was fine, but in that old lady kind of fine - where you know that it is NOT fine. She directed my vehicle to her home for more free, slightly outdated items.  She asked me to come in and meet everyone.  Her home is HUGE, and filled with lovely things, and animals and people.  Wonderful old lady things, that I just know have fantastic stories to them - Coffee clutch kind of adventurous stories. She is really super fixated on chatting with me. And now that I've seen the house, I am certainly tempted.  Maybe she is responsible for her mother, her adult daughter, her husband, and just needs another adult to chat with. But, am I really that person?  I'm not completely sure how I feel out being that person. It's not her, I think quietly, it's me.  I'm just so noncommittal these days.  I don't want to feel obligated to answer the phone every time. But, then, the other nagging part of me, the needing to care for and respect my elders. Oh, and the stories with the stuff.  And I do like coffee. Can you catch Stockholm Syndrome that fast?

Before I left, she gave me the lowdown on her yard, which is beautiful. Perhaps, I am even a bit jealous that I did not get to do all the similar projects in my own yard.  It's cool, and green, with many different plants and bugs, and small critters.  It smells nice, and I would like to nap there, I think. The fireflies greeted us.  The chickens do not stay up to catch fireflies.  How lucky for those bugs is that?...Well, or smart. 

She pointed at the neighbor's house across the street that she's in a slight feud with.  He always parks his car right in front of her driveway, making it hard for her to get out, and all because he stepped on her lawn once without asking permission.  She didn't care that he was on her lawn, but only, that he did not ask.  Now he plays "that car park business", just to get at her. And she did hope that I didn't have any trouble getting out of the driveway. I didn't state that I had about two cars worth of space and could totally get out.  No, I didn't say that.  

He's one of those Proud Mexican men, she noted.  Never like a woman to tell them anything.  I said if I accidentally hit his car, would she laugh or tell on me? Her eyes widened, and she did not reply.  But, she did smile a sneaky smile.  I think I would totally get away with it. But, I don't know her all that well enough yet, to commit a crime.

I took a drive last night before chicken/old lady time.  The road was long and the traffic was bad getting there. I saw three Latino punkrock boys crossing over the bridge to the river.  All had such great styled jet black hair. And they just looked like they were going somewhere to do something someone else would want to call them out on, but I would totally love...or maybe they were just walking.

I volunteered. And during that volunteer time, I met a lesbian couple who had just gotten married in New York. One was Jewish and one was Christian. I asked if they had a cake, since I love wedding cake.  They did.  And I also noted that I loved those tasty little melt-away mints and mixed nuts that were had at wedding and wakes alike, but I didn't believe in marriage for myself.  The idea of having a binded contract with any Government about who I could love or not love just drove me crazy. However, I loved that they got married and wished all those who wanted it, could do it.  But, mostly, I loved the cake. I also told them I was a non-believer, but I liked some of the stories. The Jewish lesbian said she hadn't wanted to marry in a synagogue. 

So, there we all were...different in some things, yet able to co-exist in the volunteer world.  If only the larger world would just do the same. The same with wedding cake for everyone.

III.

And on the drive home, I saw a drunkard, homeless man at a bus stop. He was sun-beaten, in a winter coat and jeans, covered in dirt, filth and stains. He was picking his nose. I mean, really digging in there to get that boogery treasure.  I wanted to ask him, "Why bother?".  The rest of you is dirty and stinky but you seem to be intent on cleaning out your nose.  What a strange thing.  And I didn't get to see if he actually got the booger, and if he ate it or not - the light changed.  Maybe I would have gagged, maybe not.  Maybe he would have just flicked the booger. Or maybe he would have wiped it on the bus stop for someone else to sit on and/or find. MAYBE he would have eaten the booger because he was starving? (I told my other friend about this, he asked me if boogers were considered Vegan. I didn't know the answer. Maybe, but they have all the days germs and pollutants in them, so surely not.)

The drive home to the chickens was quick.  I got on this familiar stretch of road.  And I still remembered how to time my speed from my pizza delivery day.  I didn't hit one red light.  got a little sad to see more cool places being torn down to make room for more trendy shitbag stuff.  The awesomeness that made this town, cannot be recaptured in strange paint jobs and high-rise condos.  Those people already missed it...missed it all. 

I want to move soon.  I want to go some place that I don't remember when, so much.

IV.

And I got too tiny cupcakes for volunteering.  They had the good icing on them, not wedding cake icing, but not that "light" icing shit either.  I ate them both.

yeah, define interesting.

Not Seeing Red.

There were a thousand haikus sent to Mars.  It was a contest.  And humans sent in their thoughts, their pens to papers, to see it off to circle the Red Planet. 

 I have never been a master or the haiku. I think somewhere I have the one I did in fourth grade.  In my corduroy pants and polyester stripped shirt, I tried so hard. There were piles of crumpled papers everywhere before it was settled.  I transferred each word ever so carefully with my tiny hands on to cardstock. I cut the cardstock in half, after bending it to make sure the ends met exactly.  Then, I cut a piece of bright green construction paper the same way.  I used just enough Elmer's clue to put my haiku on the green, half sheet.  I carefully put a huge book on it overnight to dry, so the ends wouldn't curl up.   I hadn't even truly mastered handwriting, but somehow, I was supposed to come up with a fucking haiku. A decorative, fucking haiku, at that.  I remember doing the project begrudgingly, but I really gave it my duty-all. I turned it in, got and didn't get an A. I was mad, and I argued, with no relief - No one listens to you in the fourth grade.  And I DID NOT get an A, because the structure was incorrect.  NOT because it didn't make sense.  I got marks off for making up a word, a name for something that didn't exist. I got marks off for using my imagination. And I never did it again. That was the end of my haikuing career. 

But, to have your words put into space - just circling and circling a dry, desert, red, planet. The papers encased in metal and cold silence, held into place by forces we know of, but can't feel to the touch. I should like that.  I should admire that. But, I'm not sure if I like the idea or not.  I've been disinterested with Mars ever since we found out the Face of Mars was just a rock formation.  I think I liked it better when it was a face.  I just don't think a bunch of haikus are going to make me feel better about that loss. 

But, did I do anything better today?  I did my laundry. I did hang out my red underwear on the clothes line to dry. At the time, I did feel like I had done something brilliant, getting all the house chores done.  But, none of it will go into the history books. Of that, I am completely sure of.  

It's been quite a few long months.  And there will be a few months more, before things are settled.  I've been very quiet lately.  I think some people think it's depression.  It's not.  I'm just enjoying the quiet.  Preparing my reserves.  Enjoying the quiet. It's a little like cleaning out a dirty garage, filled with dust and clutter, and used and broken things. Old Christmas decorations, the too small and rusted bike, the cans and bottles for recycling, the tools, and smeared oil stains.  Hard work to get all that done.  But, when it's finished, I want to repaint the walls of my empty mind garage, redo the floor and the ceiling. That's what I've been doing.  I just want to sit in there, and enjoy the work done, and clean and quiet.  I know like any garage, there will be stuff, new stuff, piling up in it soon enough. It is our nature to continue to collect.  

I have been listening to music.  My favorite song of all is Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata - all three parts.  It may be, for me, the most touchingly brilliant piece of music ever.  I can listen to it over and over again, and never get tired of it.  Some day, I think that I will even have sex with someone to it.  And I would probably cry through the whole damn thing.  How could I not? But, that would be a very special person indeed.  I would never put my blessed Beethoven in harms way by attaching him to some ordinary sod.  And if I die before that happens, then so be it.  I do suspect I will die before it happens.  Hasn't happened in the first forty years, and not be super crass, but that's really going to have to be one hell of a guy and one hell of a penis. The purity of the song must remain above all. 

I had it turned way up in my headphones, so loud that my ears almost hurt. I laid next to the bed with my legs up on the edge my back on the cold floor. The floor was so nice.  My eyes closed and the dog's breath on my face.  And when it was done, I just played it again, two more times.  Beethoven is history, that will never be undone, or defeated.  All we have is his music. No one left who knew him.  But these notes, from a brain, a human brain.  He heard them in his mind - his brain.  Completely incomprehensible. We barely have any humans that reach this level of miraculous.  We barely know anything about the brain.  I hope in our studies we don't undo Beethoven like we did Mars.  

After that, I went out to hang my underwear...but, not a haiku.  

The Pending Drop of the Sootikin...and what it really means for the rest of us.

There is real magic.  I really think there is.  You can say it's shit.  But, even if you disagree with me, well, that doesn't mean that I'm wrong. Really, I don't care if people believe anything that I know to be a truth.  I'm not in the game of convincing anyone.

The word, with it's strange combinations of letters that don't seem to go together in any other word - even that demonstrates what can be seen or smelled, or touched, or imagined....all those things.  That word doesn't even seem real, like some kind of strange intangible state that we'd all like to be apart of.  Yeah, I haven't seen much of it lately.  That's really the fucking pisser in life, when you haven't been seeing any magic lately.  And I'm not talking about that fake-ass Las Vegas with Tigers and Shiny Short Dressed Ladies kind of shit.  I mean real fucking magic!

I shared a new dirty word with a friend today.  That was a little bit of magic.  Where I came to learn the word from, that was a little bit of magic?  Through oceans and lands - through cables and electronics - through brains - through me - I connected two friends with the dirty word.  Oh, we could dissect the whole thing, the whole event, right down to the God Particle...but, how shitty would that feel.   I can imagine them having a drink and laughing together.

The dirty word conversation led me to thinking.  For some reason, I remembered one summer meeting this really hot, blond guy, at the park.  He was tan, tall, hand bangs that fell in front of his eyes that I wanted so much to look into mine. It the small town I lived in, there wasn't too much to do.  So, walking to the park was an evening highlight.  I would take my Walkman, listen to The Cars, feel the heat and the wind, the full ten blocks to the park. With the lip gloss and sweat, a lot of walking and imagining there was some place else that I could be walking. I was listening to The Cars when I saw him.  Teenagers don't even have to talk. In fact, they don't just talk well. Well, unless you were a cool kid, and even then, as we all know now, that they sounded like shit, too.  With teenagers, it's all done by passing hormone beams.  Yes, special hormone beams. Me and this guy made out, that happened pretty quickly. Then on a different day, I went into his house, and his mother came home early, and I had to climb out the back window, with my bra unfastened. Like I had any boobs to hold in anyway. I loved anything that involved climbing out of something, hiding, making up an excuse for, etc. Still rather like all that stuff.  All in good fun.

Maybe I remembered because the dirty word sharing joggled the idea that I didn't used to sit on the sidelines like I have been doing.  And it's okay, really okay to share a dirty word and maybe get into something I need to climb through a back window to get out of.

Right now, I'm sitting in my dirty pj's, smoking, and drinking cold coffee.  The dog just alerted me that she needs to go outside and take a piss.  Not a great start, but maybe I'll paint my nails for the pending shots-fired at the start line.

End Transmission.

Dear Cute Guy that hit on me today.

Dear Cute Guy that Hit on Me Today,

You and I did seem like we had a lot in common.  And you were really handsome.  (Although, you could probably brush your teeth after lunch, just to heighten the effect.)  You were actually quite savvy about putting out the signals.  In fact, since I'm getting out of a huge mess of a relationship that was over a decade -shit, I almost missed them.  No fault of your own, simply my not thinking AT ALL, along those lines. Bit beat down, and out of sorts, I am.  But, you should know that when I did finally catch on, there really is a part of me that wished I were ready for that.  I think it would have been fun. You were terribly handsome, nice, intelligent.  I wouldn't wait for me though...it's going to be a long-ass while.  However, for a minute you did lift me out of my inner turmoil.   Thank you for that.

Best Wishes Cute Guy.  Best Wishes.
 

The divorce...even though we were never married. It's the longest brake up ever. And I hate it. I'm not glad you're finding yourself.

I'm sad.  Sad because I memorized you.  I let you in to make that permanent mark.  Given my understanding of humanity, those permanent marks are so few. I'm sad that we're a boring statistic....so, unbelievably sad.

I'm embarrassed. Embarrassed by the tears that just start on their own and won't stop, every single time I see you.  How many tears is one person allowed?  This is ridiculous.  The make-up that I put on just smears. Why as I putting the make-up on? Embarrassed.

I'm jealous.  I'm jealous that you are getting every thing that you want, and I have to pick up the slack, and rebuild for two.  That I have to fix everything, and make sure everything is right on track. 

I'm angry.  I'm angry that you take no responsibility for the hurt and disruption you left in your wake.  I'm angry that you see us as being friends. You actually said that.   Seriously?!?  How did you work that out in your head?  Friends?  No, not now. Couldn't be bothered to work on the love...and friends have love, too.  So, no work, no love. It will be a business.

In time it will be a business.... strictly business. 

Frustrated.  I am frustrated because this is a normal thing.  These tears and the mess are an average thing.  There are websites, and books, and groups...all about this thing...this average thing.  And I want this thing gone, I want this thing done.  But, that's not how this kind of thing works.  It sucks.  It takes time.

I thought the thing that I had memorized was better and more special than that.

Boy, was I wrong.

IKEA with the Girls - I have the smallest boobs in the whole group.

Today started off somewhat okay, just okay. I had plans with great friends. My hair still looked good and I had gotten new nail polish.  We can't share a bed, and I woke up alone, and sometimes I do notice it.   We're no longer together, I heard you,  but haven't divided up all the property.  We have to fix the house before we sell it - but we're separate even on fixing the actual house - all separate projects.  Separate and sharing space.  I'm doing what I'm supposed to with the moving on.  And sometimes I can just keep myself busy enough to keep the sadness away. But right now, I am sad. I prefer angry, which is way more productive projectwise.  I don't get to pick right now, which shows up when. But, today the great friends and I went shopping, and I saw all the things that would make our home look so nice.  Then the sting, the prick, I remembered WE no longer have a home.  We have property that needs to be fixed to sell - but not a home.

So, today I am sad.  I no longer have my love, my friend, and I am homeless.

Sometimes a blowjob is just a blowjob. (The phone conversation.)

It is Christmas Time, again.  That's a holiday that never goes away.  Oh yes, the emotions were high this year.  Nothing like a holiday already fired with everyone's weird, built up, scarred shit, and then just add the fuel.  Fanfuckingtastic.  Trying to fool yourselves that you're not leaving THAT much of a scar on the child.  (Secretly wondering if that's what everyone's parents told themselves.)

What's everyone doing for Christmas?  Shit, I don't know.  Right now, it's Christmas Eve and everyone is in separate rooms.  Does that count for closeness if we're in the same house?  That's probably as good as it's going to get. 

How are you doing?  Okay.  I'm drinking all of the whiskey in the house, listening to angry music, and some sad music, smoking, and probably not leaving any of the eggnog either.  That sounds sad and stupid.  Does it?  I'm telling you, right now, I feel so much better, way better than the whole last month.  In fact, whoever said that drinking doesn't help was lying.  It totally helps.  Okay, if you say so.  Why yes, I do say so.  I like myself, and I really super like myself when I'm drunk.

What was said?  Oh yeah, it was so confusing.  We sort of did it.  And I liked it.  But, it was super confusing for the other party.  Why?  Well, some people have resided themselves to not being happy here, and certainly not happy with me, the way I think, the way I am, the way I look, etc.  So, the act was very confusing.  And we had to have yet another talk about it. 

Seriously?  Yeah.  I'm worn out.  And how do you tell someone that a blowjob is just sometimes a blowjob...and not to read too much into it.  And that even shitty people can still have some talents. 

What about tomorrow, still going to Mass?  Probably not, I'm going to probably still be drunk.  And if I remember correctly, no one likes drunk, stinky people at church.  And you know I don't believe, but sometimes I do like the idea and the ceremony.  Maybe I'll make it later in the week. We'll just open presents and then sit there, I'm guessing....in different rooms, of course.

Coming over on New Year's?  Yeah.  Can I get drunk and just sleep over?  Yeah, you can even take naps if you want.  Thanks.  You're a good friend.